snowflakes melt under tropical red| Langa x Reki oneshot

Langa x Reki- lemon

The night was cold. It wasn't because of the sharp flowing currents of the wind, or the lack of clothing Langa had enveloped around his body.

His entire life had revolved around the cold for as long as he could remember. From the blistering snow storms, to the calla lily coloured snow flakes that fell with imprecise delicacy to the earth below.

Melting at the touch of warmth, seeping into healthy soil and stacking upon other flakes of white.

He was used it all— the violent winds, clothing inappropriate for the whether and the constant fall of cold specimens.

Yet, he had never felt so cold in his life until now. He was unbeknownst to the world around him that consisted of lands which didn't send shivers up your spine yearly, or have thick clothing constantly promoted in any corner store you pass by.

Okinawa had opened way to his enclosed mind, spreading his doors open and inviting him to experience colours he had not yet seen before.

At first it was like being thrown into a art piece that was splashed with dim cloudy greys, dirt Browns and midnight blues. But then a flock of tropical red was sprawled across the canvas, blinding Langa at sight and effortlessly wiping out the dull colours that consumed him.

In a sudden blaze the canvas was only red, with one trifling cold stroke of blue.

That was when Langa had felt his chilling goosebumps subside for the first time. He was no longer stepping outside and getting shot with blasts of merciless cold air. Instead each morning he was greeted with a person who held enough warmth to rival the sun.

The air in Okinawa's winters were undoubtedly warmer then Canada's, and snow was unmistakably absent. But that wasn't the source which had created Langa's warmth.

It was Reki's smile— blazing a trail of light to guide Langa in the time he was lost the most.

The warm boy became Langa's worlds that unconditionally spin in orbit. He became a star that rose and fell, still Langa could keep track of him wherever he went. And a simple penny tossed in a wishing well, an item without meaning unless a person made a given connection.

Langa had made that connection to Reki. He hadn't entirely comprehended what he was falling into, but whatever it was the only thing he was sure of was that it was warm.

It was identical to the spread of comfort his Dad surrounded him in as a child. The tingling feeling blossoming within Langa, from the moment a boy with bold coloured hair painted his way in the picture.

But now the warmth had vanished. It had been stolen away and stripped by he, himself. 

If only he had realised earlier the true weights the promise he made held. If only he had foreseen the pain Reki would endure by consequence of his actions.

Maybe then he wouldn't be running through empty streets at an hour of the night that left shops closed and parks unpopulated.

But he was desperate, desperate for the warmth only Reki brought him. He was willing to run through those chilling streets for as long as it would take, if at the end he would be showered with that familiar red feeling.

His feet moved in pace separate to his mind. Dragging him forward like by a compelling force as if he and Reki were two opposite ends of a magnet.